passed between herself and Philimore,—to conceal nothing, either relative to the present or the future; but to do this required the permission of Philimore.
In her next letter to him she communicated her ideas upon the subject; to which he replied, that he left her to act in any way her discretion might authorize.
And now, for the first time, it occurred to her that his style was more laconic than usual, and not dictated by that fervent warmth which had ever characterised the letters of Philimore. She re-perused it, and endeavoured to force upon herself the belief that she was mistaken:—she dwelt upon every sentence,—she weighed the force of every expression. Alas! they were not as they were wont to be. She blamed herself for the request she had urged, supposing it might be that which had offended him.
She immediately wrote a second letter, couched in language the most tender, declaring the entire resignation of her will to his in every particular, and that she would not adopt any measure, or confide their mutual secret to her aunt, unless he himself should first require it. The answer which in due time returned pleased her better; the sentences were fraught with more warmth, and dissipated the fears to which the former had given rise.
Notwithstanding the increasing reserve of her aunt, Oriana, assured of Philimore's love and constancy, felt happy,—little else had power to disturb
